


The Hyena and The Rat.

by JustACapybara



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: . . . shit fam that's all I can think of, Platonic Relationships, but anyway uh, i'm sorry i'm still way too used to the tumblr method, man I should really like... start using these tags lik, to tell people what they should expect? huh?, yeah onion patches and greirat's whacky day out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23776933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustACapybara/pseuds/JustACapybara
Summary: Greirat was approached by the Unkindled One about a target and is making preparations.Patches...is bored.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	The Hyena and The Rat.

A quiet, quiet day at the Shrine.

Lothric Castle loomed above, the Hollowed failures suffered in silence outside, a Master's body turned to fine ash in front of the Firekeepers' graves.

And no sign of the unkindled ash yet.

Which meant...

Well, that this was going to be a boring day.

Day, day, days. What did a 'day' mean in such a convoluted era?

Patches had seen days, he had. Counted 'em, too. Spent a not-insignificant amount of those days holed up somewhere due to a failed machination or two. And yet somehow not enough thinking up schemes, despite dedicating most of his days to those facts.

Oh, days.

Oh, how he missed when that word meant anything.

Still, he wasn't gonna sulk in the past. He was Patches. A good merchant, a greater warrior, and the greatest swindler. And Firelink was full of idiots. Why, what place wasn't, when Patches was around?

Except, of course, for Yuria. Dastardly drat was a priestess, she was, but also a damn fine fighter. The kind that made him not want to even risk kicking the occasional rock her way, or accidentally slipping onto a statue to crush her with. Indeed, maybe he had met his match. Turns out, maybe Faith could do something good after all, make one so asinine and insane that even his superior intellect couldn't make 'em trip! Stalwart broad.

Well, Ol' Cornyx wasn't exactly one to be toyed with, either. Sure, he had tripped quite a few Pyromancers before. Quite tricky buggers, they were, always just melting or throwing fire at every problem. Sure made holing them up hard when they could just... burn the whole place down. Besides, despite his bandages, Patches was sure the foul oaf was hiding his eyes. He could prolly see fine an' dandy! But oh, more's the pity, and smarter he is, not being able to see and all! Bloody weirdoes, those Pyromancers.

By that merit, neither was Karla one to be messed around with. Well first, unlike Cornyx, she couldn't take a joke - well, she could, she just retorted with something not very funny but very hurtful to his poor, kind heart. That and once again unlike Cornyx, her fire was... less than welcoming. Dark, weird, creepy. Why, he'd rather not mess with a damn witch. He swindled folk, but she... whew! Well, and especially seeing as he had nowhere to really run to in case he missed his shot, why, a smart guy like him had to see when to back down - or rather, not start at all! Really, it was the smartest choice, letting the hag go on.

Talking about weird hags, the Firekeeper in the making was not even a choice at this point either. While her brute protector wasn't exactly very present, Patches had caught enough glimpses of the fool to know that even if he dropped the bastard out of a cliff, he'd just crawl back up and shush this poor merchant away. And well, it was hard keeping a nice storefront when a mad brute was out for blood because a certain Undead wanted to get a few souls from some dirty nun that was sitting on a pile of 'em twiddling her thumbs! Stupid people, looking out for each other...

The other pair, the two undead were also... well, weren't they something. Anri and that quiet one. Such a dynamic duo! All brave and noble and just begging to be led down a dark hole! Ohohoho, oh, he'd love to be the one to break them apart and put all those trinkets to better use in the hands of future customers, but, he had seen the Unkindled One talking to the duo... well, one of 'em, at least! So maybe making them disappear wasn't exactly smart. Especially with how often these drats managed to scurry away, beaten and battered from his traps. Putting down these rats was hard work! Hard work he wasn't willing to do. Why, he was Patches. He worked hard every day of his life! He deserved a bit of rest. No more effort than the necessary and all that.

That mage... whatever his name was, quiet type. Didn't even answer his polite questions. Didn't even offer to buy a trinket, he did!...n't! Just stood there, reading his books, gave naught a glance to the poor, hard-working, trustworthy Patches. Why, so many secrets he hid too, he did. Both of them, in fact. Took one to know one, and that scroll-reading worm had a trove of 'em stashed away, he dared bet. And Patches only bet when he was sure he could win!

Or back out when things were looking ugly. And hey, it's not like anyone was gonna come knocking on his proverbial doors looking for their due. Well, whoever was looking sure must've wished that they claimed it before this whole unkindled fire debacle!

Who else was there... Andre? Oh, he and Andre were good buddies, they went way back! He couldn't swindle him. Wouldn't've been alive without the thick bastard. Wasn't dumb, either. Thick in the sense, he was built like a brick wall and hit twice as hard as one falling on top of you!

Well... 'good buddies' was a bit of an exaggeration, mayhaps. All the way back when the first flame was lacking kindling and every Kingdom was in shambles from the whole 'no one knew this was going to happen' thing, Andre and he were... well, acquaintances. Couldn't find a good smith anywhere, so, someone needed to repair his spear. And someone needed to buy all those heavy pieces of armor and holy trinkets! They had stumbled upon each other time and time again after that, and he was always a good, loyal customer. Well, maybe he wasn't loyal. Patches didn't exactly stick around near him too long. Didn't want other customers to get the wrong idea. Working together? Why, they'd think his boutique was a scam! Why, it was a completely legitimate business, it was. A damn good one, too! Fools.

Beside those folk, there was the usual bunch. The handmaid, who had always been there, 'etty much. A Fire Keeper, to be expected. The pathetic knight that sulked in his own failures, too cowardly to go out and do something! That sad, crippled fool with his very much desirable Crystal lizard skin... thingy.

What? He could forget names sometimes. He bargained a lot of rare items! And he wasn't a collector, just a seller. He could not know what an item was. Such was the fate of one who sold so much! Haha, basking in it, he was.

Well, he wishes he was.

Oh, drat.

It was squatting in the stairs, thinking about who he could possibly trick - either into buying something or into dying a horrible, painful, slow death while also keeping their items relatively safe - that he heard someone shuffling, getting ready to leave.

Not thick armor, not soft cloth, but the nimble and quick assembly of whatever few supplies this someone had. Barely audible, but for one with a keen ear like him - or the eyes to see the ash getting kicked up as someone dared to do so much as breath in this hellhole, he knew something was up!

Taking a few steps downstairs, he saw him. Of course, Greirat!

... Oh, Greirat.

Greirat was... not one to be swindled.

Well, he could swindle Greirat. He did promise the scurrying thief a favor back in the cells, and had yet to repay, hadn't he? Swindled already!

But... well.

It was never intentional. Greirat made him feel... better, about the world.

No, no, Gods! Not any kind of romantic notion. He recoiled from his own thoughts even considering that. It was... something more? And yet less.

The petty thief was a hero, back when being Heroic still meant something, to someone. When promises were being made, and not acted upon - or broken. He stole from the great stone roads that led to Lothric, he cut down a hundred nearly hollowed, pathetic undead from the Settlement's ropes before shushing them away to other lands! Even got the drop on a Blackhand or two, he did! Possibly. Not probable, but hey, it was a good tale told about him. But he didn't work alone. He and his... what was Loretta to him again? Depended on the story and who was telling it. Lover, sister, mother, all three depending on the circles you asked. As many people hated his guts as they loved him. And well, who didn't like to spin some yarn and add a few threads that shouldn't be there? It happened! Patches had a few tales about him himself. None very good - or kind to his name. But he had some.

Still... even now, here the pathetic little squeamish thing was. Getting his thick, lanky knife ready. Wrapping whatever possessions he could call his, and not merely loot stashed away for the Unkindled's eyes. Getting ready to adventure somewhere deadly. Patches had heard of his little outing to the Undead Settlement again. The bloody place was crawling with bloated priestesses and enough hollows to make even Patches' unbreakable will quiver! Well, not really of course. Patches did not quiver. He didn't get his moniker being a bloody coward now, did 'e! Unbroken and unsplintered. Well, enough about him.

Greirat just wanted to help. Relatively low prices, a fat stock, getting ready to adventure! It was...

Greirat was a good person.

A good, simple, kind, and gentle person.

The kind Patches had long, long, long since forgotten existed. In times of peace or in times of great duress and distress like the flames fading. Not some greedy guts or some idiot with too much love in their hearts and not enough senses. Smart, yet daring. A good man. A man that could actually... well.

Actually be of help to others.

And well... he wanted to help the poor rat, too.

Stretching his legs, the lanky, not very meaty liar strolled downstairs, using his spear as a cane. Didn't need it, he did. But eh, where was he gonna shove the damn thing? Didn't want some bugger thinking it was for sale, now!

"'Ello there! Again." He stopped at the foot of the stairs, a cocky smile from ear to ear while the candlelight reflected on his spotless baldness.

"Friend." Greirat was a little... what was it, cold? Bugger usually had quite a bit o' yarn to spin.

"What's gotten into you? Decided to pack up and leave?"

"What? N-no! Never. The Unkindled One saved me. A-and, unlike a certain reputable merchant, I plan on making up for being free. And.. a-and they did more, too. So much more." Greirat nodded. No one could see the eyes behind that gruesome mask the people of Lothric put on their slaves, but poor Greirat didn't need those to express himself. His voice, inflections... and now, ever-present, the lingering fear, and desperation.

"Well then, why're you packin' up? Planning on visiting someone?"

"I plan on visiting someone alright." He chuckled, suddenly a whole lot less stressed. "I-I, well, somewhere. Our mutual friend... told me of this place. Should be plump with riches if- well, if what I believe is true. And if it is, w-well , I should come home with a brand new stock!" He chuckled. "Shouldn't be a problem to a thief like I."

"Well, then from a thief to another thief, I wish you luck!"

"Oh, a thief, now, are we? I thought you were a reputable merchant."

"And why, I am! Never robbed someone in my life. But let's say honorary thief. Just for this moment, eh? C'mon!"

"Sure." Another chuckle, drier this time, even... maybe... scared? Or tired. It was hard to know what someone was feeling. Could just be his lungs acting up from the amount of ash present literally everywhere one could lay eyes upon. Patches' own lungs must've been looking like he hadn't let a pipe out of his hands for years. These ages of Lords of Cinders were always the most troubling, they were. Drats.

"Well then, where are you going? Patches isn't just a merchant, you know. Hyena, they used to call me, they did!"

"Because you laugh every time someone buys something from you...?"

"What? Oh, bugger, can't I be overcome with joy when somebody gives me a bit of support and motivation to continue my work? Why, I never meant harm to anyone! Especially a well-paying customer. No, Hyena because my bite was unmatched!"

"Well, where I am going I think I'd rather lay low. This j-job, it is meant for the hands of an actual thief, you see. Someone who can scurry. I can't even begin to think about what may happen if we're caught in a sticky situation and you, well, try to have a way talking to the inhabitants. One needs fast feet where I'm off to."

"Oh, come on now. Hyenas are fast!"

"You're undead, not a Hyena."

"Met my fair match of undead dogs back in the day. I think I can match 'em, I can."

"Those are still not hyenas, my good Merchant. Though, where I am going, th-there might be dogs. Far worse things too, but... oh, well, look at that. You almost got me giving you valuable information for free. And well, who's the one owing to the other a favor?" There was irony in his voice. But also the stern resolution that said there was a bit of truth to that lie.

"Oh, souls, souls, souls, you have enough of 'em already, you do. Don't be petty now!"

"Patches, I am nothing if petty. A petty thief, a petty liar, a petty murderer. Will you keep holding me back or may I go?"

"Well, I mean, I'm not really tying you down, now, am I? I just wanted to tell a good friend goodbye! Why, I do believe there is nothing wrong with that!"

"There is not. But there is quite a bit suspicious with you wanting to know where I am going. I'm not dumb, Patches, a-and I'd rather you didn't pretend otherwise. My target is my own."

"I'm not pretendin'. Why, trustworthy Patches they used to call me! For good reason too!"

"Of course. As I am the greatest thief, Greirat." He laughed, pathetic, meek.

"Oh now, don't you go making jokes like that. Wherever you're going, it sounds... well, it sounds... impressive? Yeah. Yes, let's go with impressive. Eh?"

"It is very impressive. Well, who knows. Maybe you'll figure out yourself. A-and then you can come to loot my body if I fail." Again, laughing. Dry. Weak.

"Why, stoop so low as to loot my own friend's body? Now that is dirty, Greirat. I'm offended you even suggest it! That's for those folk of cloth and nobles. Bastards, all of them. Curse their very names!"

"Why, maybe I have to stay back a little bit. Just to ask this question. Why do you hate priests so much?"

"Aha, now you come seeking valuable information as well now, eh?"

"I think a reputable merchant of your ilk s-should remember that they owe me a favor."

"Well, I do, but I think you'd be making a mistake wasting it in such a lowly question! I mean, why, I think everyone hates priests. 'least a little bit. Right?"

"Well... oh, forget it now. I have to go."

"And you really are not going to tell me where you're going? I am offended. Truly, truly I am!"

"And offended you shall remain! I have business, Patches. So do you. Make sure to find something nice for me to spend all my souls when I return. Oh, this place is a bore. Nothing to buy, nothing to sell and no one to rob. Truly, truly, I am actually done a favor being told to steal far away from here. Oh, well. I will see you when I return...." He spoke something else. A single word, under his breath, muffled by the raggedy mask he wore. "Be safe!" And with that, he was off to the bonfire.

Patches was left standing there, his eagle eyes occasionally darting down. Well, he did leave most of his stock there. But... stealing it would be...

Oh, he couldn't.

"Like I'm the one that needs to be told to be safe..." He gently kicked a mound of ash while going back up his stairs, staring over the goods he was peddling. And in the corner...

Why, that Sieg-something fool whose armor he had swiped! Well, the armor he swiped from that Sieg-something fool. He hadn't seen the guy, just snapped the rope leading down the well and swiping the armor he took off before climbing down. It was hard with them onion boys! Knowing which part was lard and which part was steel.

Catarina folk, so jubilant, but so... so sickly so! Uncaring to the point of downright futility. The world was ending around them and their merry knights still held feasts in whatever holds they had left or went out to kill... kill what, exactly? Bloody fools went hunting with swords, and thick, loud armor? Bah! Absolute madmen! Women, too. They were all just fools! Broads and bastards alike. Bloody idiot deserved his armor swiped, he did.

Still...

Well.

Patches wasn't exactly muscular.

But... a bit of effort and he could slip there. It would be easier to fake being an onion than showing up wherever Greirat had gone to with his usual gear. Didn't want the bugger to think he was followed now, did he? A chance encounter between a jubilant fool and himself was fine. Explainable. Just a peek. Maybe steal one or two things before the petty thief could get to them!

But for now...

Well, he had to keep his knees sharp. Had a lot of walking to be done when this mess blew over. Couldn't have his legs thinking they could have a dull moment, now!

And... well, wait. Maybe he'd ask the Unkindled.

Yeah.

Maybe he would.

. . .

Loud, metallic clanking against the cold, cold waters that ran beneath the bridge.

"Heavens, you idiot... buggered... bastard! Makin' me step on... piss and, ugh, for... oh, drat! Drat!" And a thousand other curses were muttered as the armored fool made his way down the side of the bridge, ignoring the rotting flesh of the massive beast that once stood guard at the crossing. These gloves were surprisingly good for climbing... which was good, considering everything else about this armor made it a nightmare!

Finally making his way down - by falling into the freezing sewage of Irythill, he grabbed his spear and got to looking for the easiest entrance into the city. Greirat was an experienced thief. He wouldn't have just strolled through the bridge, arms wide open, expecting to be showered in goodies. Bloody bastard must've dug his own thrice-damned entrance, he must've!

And... AHA! The entrance to the sewers! Well, he was mostly guiding himself by smell. It wasn't exactly pleasing, but where was poop, was a mountain of it, and where there was a mountain of it, it must've gotten there SOMEHOW! That logic never failed him. Usually even got him more than he bargained for - for better or worse!

And as he approached the entrance, he heard sounds of battle. Meek whimpers from someone who didn't deserve the fate they were experiencing, and the horrid screeches of whatever abomination decided to crawl into existence this age of Fire.

"Now... YOU ALL WILL BUGGER OFF! FOR... ah, might as well, FOR CATARINA!" The onion yelled, charging into the sewer's opening.

. . .

A few dead centipede folks later, and spitting rotten water back into the sewage, and the 'Knight' stood in front of the rat, who was gasping for air.

"Y-y-you saved me." His voice low, hushed, meek. Barely audible over the hood's cloth.

"Hrmmm... oh! Seems like I did." Patches said, putting such a comically thick Catarina accent one might as well have been wearing an actual onion for armor. "Hahaha! Seems like you found yourself in quite the pickle, my friend!"

"Oh, y-yes. Yes, I, thank you. Honestly." Greirat nodded, the wooden wheel attached to his neck that fastened his hood rattling. "I w-would've died. I was s-s-sloppy. I'm. I should be going, now. I have gotten enough."

"Enough of what?"

"Oh, q-questing Knight, don't worry ab-about me. But. I do warn you. Turn back. These... creatures, are still more cha-chatty than th-the knights right above us. Bloody s-silvery piss bags nearly diced me in two... heheh... and here I was thankful that I wouldn't have to deal with oversized rodents. M-my luck has been awfully low these days. Heheheh."

"Oh, what is luck to some rowdy, ah, adventurer! Hrmmm... oh yes! What is it indeed? Everyone finds themselves in a bit of a pickle now and again, haha! And I do know the pull of treasure. Oh, it is strong! Strong indeed! Hrmmmm!"

"Uh... yes. W-well. I best get going, but- but before I do, h-here." From a small pocket in his torn pants, Greirat pulled out a golden coin, rusted and brittle. "I-In times of need, squeeze it. It-it will crumble, bu-but, when you open your palm and let the dust fall to the earth, i-it shall giveth as it receiveth. It's g-good for, heh, maybe I should have brought a few more for situations like this... Keh heh heh heh."

"Maybe you should have, adventurer. Hrmmm..." Patches pretended to inspect the coin. Why, he had a trove full of 'em, he did! If he wasn't disguised as a bloody onion he'd be offended.

"O-oh, and, another thing. Maybe you would do good in, uhm, going back the way you came... seeing as th-they're not afraid of using arrows in-indoors. B-bloody maniacs here, everyone's l-l-lost their marbles... heheh... but we're still here."

"We sure are. Well, I'll see about that! Might give 'em a piece of my mind, I might! Hrmmmm... yes indeed." Almost let go of the comically eccentric accent there. Whoops.

"Whatever you do... be safe! Th-this place is merciless. One slip and... w-well, you better have your estus at hand."

"Hrmmmmm... yes, yes I should! Thank you, adventurer."

"B-be safe!" Greirat gave a small bow to the Onion Knight, before walking towards the sewer's exits.

"... Wait!"

Greirat froze.

"Hrmmmm, how did you get into the city?"

"O-oh. I just went through the bridge." Greirat smiled under his mask. "If the front door is open... well. That's an invitation. Keep that in mind, but be safer than me!" And with that last little nugget of advice, Greirat scurried away 'round a corner.

A few seconds of waiting to make sure Greirat had gone away and Patches sighed in relief, taking his helmet off and climbing the stairs to the kitchen above. Resting against the hearth, taking a sip from the Estus soup some oaf must've forgotten.

"Bloody... stupid rat. What's gotten into you?" Well, he knew what had gotten into him. The same thing that made him bumble all the way here after hearing where Greirat went. A mix of worry and the need to help. He didn't plan on getting rewarded but, well, he wasn't gonna turn a coin down! But... he honestly could've done without it.

Imagine that. Patches the Hyena, not doing something for gold or glory, but for the sheer, pure and primal need to help someone in need. Wasn't that a cute, wholesome thought.

Bah. Nah.

He just owed Greirat a favor.

This was just an exchange of favors.

He was not Greirat's friend, his debt was paid.

That's what this was, he told himself, as he crushed the bones of a longing undead, disappearing in a fine mist of ash back to the Shrine.

Just an exchange in favors, he repeated, while climbing down his stairs to greet Greirat and hear about his whacky tale of this Knight of Catarina bumbling into the sewers and slicing down centipedes, whilst Greirat fumbled his purse.

Which was funny, seeing as Patches' purse was not a feather lighter.

"... so after we were done, I ran around the corner and stayed there listening for a little bit. Poor fool went upstairs... heheheh. Must've been chewed alive by those silvery piss stains. P-poor onion."

"Oh, I'm sure he's fine! And if he isn't, well, we'll both go back there to swindle 'is armor, eh?" Patches poked Greirat with his elbow, causing the rat to chuckle.

"Oh, who knows, maybe we can join him."

"Ooh, grim. When'd ya get that grim?"

"Grim, no. This isn't grim. I'm being realistic! This poor rat's luck's running out... the great Greirat may finally be ready to meet his match... hrm." There wasn't fear or confidence in his voice.

There was acceptance.

"Hah, oh, the day you die... well, maybe every other thief will try to wisen up somewhat! Might be doin' everyone a favor, even."

"I might. You know, I just might."

"Don't go killing yourself off, though. Don't want to leave all those trinkets untouched for some silly idiot to go and steal all your glory, huh?"

"Well, maybe they deserve it. But. No, no. I'm a thief, not an idiot. Though, heh, these days, maybe they are synonyms..."

"I think I'll always be surprised when you pull off a complicated word like that, I will."

"Maybe they mean the same thing. Better, you rat-blower? Keh heh heh heh!"

"Bit more vulgar, I can get behind that, I can. Yeah, maybe I like it better."

"Heh. I'll keep it in mind when you actually come buy something. Talking about that, you still owe me a favor."

... A favor.

"Yeah. I guess I do, eh?"

"Well... may I clam it?"

"Uh... whaddya have in mind? We'll see about that favor."

"You definition of favor sure is one of distinction. Ah, sorry... a damn great one, you pea-brained rot bearer."

"Well, quit insulting me and get on with it, will ya?"

"May you find me persimmons?"

"... persimmons?"

"It was h... is, my, favorite fr-fruit." He nodded nervously. "I think... I-I think I would like some."

"Well, I'll see what I can do. Don't think many places will be open to selling it though!"

"I-I know it's a long shot. I just... I want it. Please."

"We'll see about it."

"I can p-pay you, if it's too much."

"Oh, I get to be paid too? This is sounding less and less like a favor."

"Heh, I-it is, isn't it? T-that's when you know it's important. Heh heh heh."

"... well, I'll find you some fruit. It's a favor! I guess I gotta repay it somehow."

"A-and..."

"Oh?"

"Some fresh earth?"

"Trying to start a farm?"

"No. But well, if a tree were to grow after this is all over... that'd be nice, no?"

"It would. Bloody place is so drab, with all this ash. Wouldn't mind a bit of color. Eh, what color are persimmons again? Orange? Ah, we have enough of that with all the fire around. But, I'll do my best. It is a favor after all!"

"Sure is one, yes. T-thank you, Patches. Dearly."

And as Patches climbed up his stairs, tapping his bald, waxy head, he wondered why in the blazes he was actually considering the request.

And as he washed the Catarina armor to get the smell of piss, dung and Heavens only knew what else was in that bloody water, he wondered where in all of these broken lands he would possibly find a thrice-damned fresh persimmon.


End file.
